


Chronos' Claw

by raisedbymoogles



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Post-War, snarky old gay robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9860933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbymoogles/pseuds/raisedbymoogles
Summary: Time doesn't, in fact, heal all wounds. But the ones it does heal are worth waiting around for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr meme, and since it seems to be pretty popular on Tumblr - its notes got into the double digits, guys! :D - I'm dropping it here too.

Like the peace between Autobots and Decepticons, the peace between them was an uneasy, fragile thing, one that Optimus tried not to lean on too heavily lest it break under his weight. Like the balcony he leaned on now - not his own, forged by Decepticon hands in Decepticon metal. Perhaps Megatron felt as out of place when he visited Optimus in the heart of Autobot territory. Perhaps.

“Checking to see if it’s still there?”

Optimus didn’t turn. Iacon _was_ barely visible on the horizon, a pale gold glow half-obscured by the multicolored lights of Kaon, but although it never really left his awareness it hadn’t been his focus. “Looking at the moonrise,” he admitted, straightening to face his host. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Megatron chuckled. “You didn’t. The medic did.” He straightened away from the doorway, his movements slow and careful. Optimus struggled to keep his expression neutral as he watched. Once, he’d taunted Megatron for his age, but back then the roughness in the tyrant’s voice had really been the only mark time had left on him. Now no part of his body was free of the marks of age, and there was a certain deliberateness to his walk that spoke of pain. The aftermath of battle damage - the aftermath of damage Optimus himself had dealt him.

“Don’t give me that look,” Megatron scolded abruptly, and Optimus immediately deployed his facemask. “No, don’t give me that one either. I don’t ever want to see that thing again, Optimus.”

“You really should reconsider about the cane,” Optimus muttered, head lowered.

“Never.” Megatron reached him, put a hand to his armored cheek. It might have been a loving caress except for how Megatron pressed his fingertips in, seeking some way past the mask.

“You’re not the only one getting older,” Optimus pointed out. “My back assembly gives Ratchet fits. Besides, just think how useful it would be to carry around a stick you can hit people with.”

Megatron snorted a laugh. “Fine, then, I’ll use a cane when you do. And you had best watch your ankles, Optimus Prime.”

Optimus laughed, and finally released his mask. Rather than go straight for the kiss as he expected, though, Megatron pulled him closer, pressing Optimus’s face to his shoulder. Optimus dimmed his optics and took the (rare, shining) opportunity to cling to him.

The weight of history bore down on them both. But here and now, Megatron was caressing the aches out of his back, and his scarred silver body was warm.


End file.
